


Learning to Live by Living

by zilia



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia/pseuds/zilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Bucky's journey to recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Live by Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ibroketuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibroketuesday/gifts).



> One of my favourite quotations is from Francois de Sales: "Nothing so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength," which I think is Steve Rogers all over. I was curious to see whether there were any other quotations from him that I liked, so I looked them up, and there were loads, and they all seemed to fit really well with Bucky's recovery, so I used them as themes for each section of this fic. ibroketuesday, I really hope that you like this!
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to klayn and soproudofya for all of their help with this fic.

_“Friendships begun in this world will be taken up again, never to be broken off.”_

At this stage, it’s almost like the Winter Soldier _wants_ to be found. He’s not making it very difficult for Steve and Sam to follow him. By the time they catch up with him, it’s clear he’s given up completely. He looks pale, paler than usual even, and tired. Defeated. He’s sustained some injuries in the course of running away, which are probably slowing him down; he’s covered in cuts and bruises, and he’s holding his flesh arm awkwardly where Steve broke it weeks before. It’s cold, and Steve’s every muscle hurts like a bitch. When they finally confront each other, after weeks of playing cat and mouse, he looks into Steve’s eyes, and, after a long silence, says “Stevie?” in a voice of such uncertainty that it makes Steve’s heart catch.

They hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds, and then Steve says, “Yeah. That’s right.” His every instinct is telling him to rush forward, to take Bucky in his arms, to hold him so tightly that it forces his fractured self back together and so he can never get away. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even need Sam’s signal to warn him stay back; Bucky is radiating distress and discomfort, and he doesn’t want him to bolt. Instead, Steve steps slowly forward, holds out a hand, and says, “Ready to come home?”

Bucky takes it – his fingers are so cold – and nods.

 

\---

 

_“When you encounter difficulties and contradictions, do not try to break them, but bend them with gentleness and time.”_

Bucky doesn’t really talk after he first comes home. The only person he seems comfortable around is Steve, although he doesn’t seem _that_ comfortable around him, but on this basis, and the basis that Steve knew him best, he moves into Steve’s apartment. Just so that Steve can keep an eye on him. Bucky won’t interact with the others at all yet; they tried bringing him into the common room, but it was a disaster. He’s especially disturbed by Natasha, for what are probably obvious reasons. Steve tries to be patient with him, but sometimes it’s so hard when he’s looking desperately for any sign at all that the old Bucky might come back, when he’s looking for Bucky’s cocky smirk and sees only a blank expression in its place. He misses the old Bucky, who was loud and lively and somehow took up so much more space, even though his physique was less developed than that of the Winter Soldier. This Bucky is like a shadow. Sometimes, Bucky spends days and days in his room, hardly coming out at all. It’s like trying to befriend a wary animal.

Steve was never a patient man, and this feels like the biggest test of his life. He forces himself to act as normally as possible, to go about his life in his usual manner, albeit a little subdued, and not to feel self-conscious about performing normality for a stranger who would struggle to define the word. But little by little, it pays off. Steve begins to feel like he has a shadow. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, and Bucky will come out and sit near him. Not that close, definitely not close enough to touch, but close enough so they can see each other. Steve’s learned from experience that acknowledging Bucky’s presence tends to spook him, so instead he just lets Bucky be around him. When he makes tea, he makes two cups, and leaves one within Bucky’s reach, inwardly punching the air in triumph when Bucky takes it. When he cooks, he makes double, and does the same. Little by little Bucky becomes comfortable eating in his presence. Before, he wouldn’t eat at all – they learned that this was because the Winter Soldier was fed, or not, by his handlers, and was never allowed to get anything for himself – and when he did start, he would snatch the food and retreat to a place of safety to eat it. But gradually, he’d becoming accustomed to sharing his space with Steve. He eats and drinks with him now. But he still hardly speaks.

It’s different at night, when Bucky screams, waking from nightmares he won’t talk about. At first, he kept his door closed, but he’s been sleeping with it open for the past few days, and Steve reads that as an invitation to come in and sit on the floor by his bed. He knows he’s understood correctly when Bucky wakes up one night, looks straight at him, and then settles back down into bed, apparently soothed. Eventually, after checking many twelve or twenty times that it’s ok to do so, Steve brings his bed into Bucky’s room so that they can share a sleeping space. He can’t help but remember the time when they would both huddle in the same bed, a lifetime ago in their draughty Brooklyn flat. When Steve would be sick with something or other and Bucky would keep watch over him, listening to his breathing. When the cold at night would force them at last into the same bed, although there was no real force about it, just a justification they had both been seeking for wanting to be close. When they finally discovered their shared feelings, and learned how to generate heat in a bed in both their bodies and their hearts. After that, they had continued to share a bed even when the weather turned warmer. They’re a long way from that kind of closeness now, but one night, when Bucky is whimpering in his sleep, Steve can’t help himself; he’s out of bed and crossing the room before he’s realised what he’s doing, and he takes Bucky’s hand in his. He knows it’s stupid, touching Bucky like this when he’s still so skittish, but, miraculously, Bucky’s whimpers stop, and his breathing evens out. Steve realises they might be making some progress after all.

 

\---

 

_"A heart-memory is better than a mere head-memory."_

It just _happens_ one day. They’re in the kitchen, drinking the green tea that Bucky likes. Steve knows he likes it, because three days ago, Bucky had cleared his throat and said in a very rusty voice, “I like this.” He had said nothing else, and he had not responded to Steve’s grin, but Steve had felt warm for hours afterwards and had started making the tea twice as often as usual. He and Bucky spend hours just sitting at the table, drinking the tea, and Bucky gets closer to him with each cup, until he’s so close, Steve wouldn’t have to reach far to touch him. He’s so close he can feel the heat radiating from Bucky’s side. This is the closest Bucky’s let him get since he brought him home and they’ve both been awake. Trembling, he leans over, closer, still not making any contact, but placing his hand palm-up on the table. A gentle invitation. No pressure. Time seems to stand still, the seconds stretching out indefinitely, and Steve’s heart thunders in his ears as slowly, Bucky reaches out and lays his hand on Steve’s. He looks at Steve’s hand, stroking the fingers, assessing it, exploring it, and his gentle touches send sparks racing through Steve’s bloodstream. As one, they turn, and look at each other, and with a huge rush, like the colour suddenly flooding back into Steve’s world, Steve hears Bucky say, “I remember. Your hands, Steve…I remember.” Then he’s in Steve’s arms, clinging to him so tightly, and they’re both crying, and Steve’s laughing through his tears, and Bucky’s making little snuffling sounds that might be somewhere in the vicinity of amusement, and he holds on and holds on and holds on.

Of course, he doesn’t remember anywhere close to everything, but he remembers what they had, what they were. He remembers that they loved each other, he tells Steve later, as they lie on Steve’s bed looking into each other’s eyes. There’s a blanket draped over them, and periodically Bucky reaches up to touch Steve’s face, as though he’s trying to absorb him through his fingertips. The metal hand is still by his side, like he’s reluctant to touch Steve with it. Steve takes it, lifts it to his mouth, kisses each knuckle reverently, holds it in his own hand against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky gives a sob and a shudder, and rests his forehead against Steve’s. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss, just for a second. Steve doesn’t push him, and Bucky remains relaxed, but he doesn’t want to jinx this by asking for too much.

“I love you,” Steve tells him. Bucky frowns for a moment, and then, tentatively, nuzzles his nose against Steve’s. His expression is so serious that Steve can’t help but smile, while a warm flame of hope surges up in his heart, because this is something…

“We used to do that, right?” Bucky says doubtfully.

“That’s right,” Steve says, keeping his tone measured so as not to freak Bucky out, but unable to keep the smile out of his voice. “When we were kids. Before we learned how good it feels to kiss.”

Bucky nuzzles him again, and says, “it might be a while before we can kiss. Like. Like before?” He sounds worried. “Is that ok?”

“Totally ok, Buck,” Steve says, “Whatever you need.”

His heart is overflowing with joy for how far they’ve come in the space of a day. His _body_ has other ideas about its proximity to Bucky after so long, but he can keep it under control, at least for a while. He’s gone without for over seventy years; however long Bucky needs will be a drop in the ocean.

Once Bucky has let Steve touch him, it’s like the floodgates have opened. He still won’t talk much, but suddenly he needs to touch Steve all the time. Bruce explains that it’s probably because he was touch-starved as the Winter Soldier, and now he knows that he can trust Steve he’s indulging that need as much as possible. It’s like living with a metal-armed octopus. The need to touch each other is mutual; strictly platonic, but no less pleasurable for both of them.

Contact with Steve also brings Bucky out of himself a bit more, and makes him more willing to try new things. Bucky loves watching movies because it means he gets to curl up with Steve on the couch, pressed up against Steve’s side, his legs across Steve’s lap. Steve is keeping them on the non-violent side for now, sticking mainly with Disney (and _no_ , Clint, that is _not_ because he secretly wants to be a princess. He will admit to being a sucker for a happy ending though). Bucky’s started to read again, devouring anything he can find in the apartment, and Steve lets him borrow his laptop to set up an Amazon account so that he can buy more; he won’t use an e-reader or tablet, says he prefers the old-fashioned way. He’d been the same when they were younger, always reading anything that wasn’t nailed down.

Bucky has always kept himself clean, but he takes more interest in his appearance now that Steve brushes his hair and massages his scalp every morning. Steve could even swear he’s caught Bucky trying to style it once or twice. He rubs Bucky’s shoulders and neck, easing the tension that gathers there because of his metal arm and earns satisfied groans that make his cock twitch. Bucky returns the favour, using his flesh hand only to stroke Steve’s skin whenever he can. He won’t massage, because he’s scared of causing harm by pressing too hard, however much Steve tries to reassure him, and he won’t use the metal hand for anything at all if he can help it, but he runs his fingers gently over Steve whenever he has the opportunity. At night, they curl together in bed, and Bucky has fewer nightmares. Not _no_ nightmares, because that would be too good to be true, but fewer. Every day, Bucky’s body brings him back a little of what his head has lost, and with every touch, he seems more grounded.

 

_"Have patience with every one, but especially with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections."_

“Fuck!”

Bucky’s been talking a bit more recently, but it’s still a surprise to Steve to hear his voice. He goes through to the kitchen to find Bucky surrounded by shards of china and a puddle of water, looking frustrated and crestfallen all at the same time.

“You ok, Buck?”

Bucky won’t answer him, but it’s fairly easy to see what’s happened. There are tea leaves all over the floor, and Bucky is sucking on a finger of his flesh hand.

“Did you burn?”

Bucky nods. He looks furious with himself. “That was your favourite mug,” he explains, gesturing to the floor.

Steve doesn’t have a favourite mug, as far as he’s aware. “Why did you think that?”

“You always use it.”

“It’s not my favourite. It’s just habit, I guess. It’s a good size. Doesn’t matter, I’ve got others.” He’s babbling, just to try to reassure Bucky – it’s just a mug, for heaven’s sake, a mug is nothing to Steve when Bucky’s upset – but he’s also impressed at Bucky’s observational skills. He hadn’t even noticed he tended to favour that mug. A shiver passes down his spine when he considers what those powers of observation have been used for, and he forces himself to think of the matter in hand. He busies himself mopping up the puddle just to have something to do. Bucky is still motionless and dejected-looking.

“But I wanted to make you tea,” he says, in a small voice. Tea has become a weird kind of currency for them. Steve used to be the one who made it, but recently Bucky has taken over tea-duty, almost as if he’s trying to settle some kind of imaginary debt, or else show Steve that he can still provide for him in this one, small way.

“It’s just tea, Bucky. You’ve just got to be patient with yourself,” Steve says cautiously, still not approaching Bucky no matter how much he wants to, because although Bucky is looking wretched, he’s nevertheless giving off waves of _do not touch me_. His eyes are slightly wild; that’s the main hint.

“I’ve _been_ patient, I _am_ patient, and I’m trying but it’s _just so hard_ ,” Bucky snaps in frustration. There’s a silence for a few moments, during which Steve takes several deeps breaths in and out and reminds himself that Bucky’s not angry _with_ him, he’s angry _near_ him.

“This isn’t really about the mug, is it?” he guesses, eventually.

Bucky looks at him with a sarcastic expression and claps his hands mockingly. Over the past few weeks he’s being going to therapy, which Steve had been hoping he’d do from the beginning, but he respected Bucky’s need to make the decision for himself. The therapy has had mixed results. It is helping his memory come back, but the downside of this is that it causes Bucky to dwell on things a lot more, and to be overwhelmed with periods of self-loathing, guilt, and anger that are often set off by innocuous things. Like breaking a mug. Sometimes it makes him a bit of a jerk. It’s like pulling teeth talking to him when he’s like this, but he needs to try to get Bucky to open up if he can. Bracing himself, he says, “Is it about what happened in your therapy session yesterday?”

Bucky sighs and drops his head.

“Why are you here, Steve?”

Steve is surprised by the change of direction. “Because this is my apartment?”

“No, I mean, with me. Why do you even want me around?”

“Because I love you. Because you’re my Bucky. Because I just got you back. Because my world is a better place just with you in it. Is that what you want me to say?”

“But I’m a fucking nightmare,” Bucky says, and he sounds despairing. “I can’t even go outside without freaking out.”

“Bucky. That was your first try. So you didn’t manage it this time. One day, you will. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“ _And_ I can’t even be nice to you when you’re the one person who’s on my side. I feel like I’m going backwards here.”

“Well, you’re not.” Bucky finally looks as though he might allow some contact, so Steve steps gingerly forward, and embraces him. After a moment of tension, Bucky relaxes into his hold.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave, Bucky,” Steve murmurs into his hair, following a hunch, and Bucky relaxes even more, confirming his suspicions, “Even if you smash all my stuff.”

“Those people outside…they looked at me like I was a freak.”

“You’re not a freak. You’ve just had some bad things happen to you, and you’re trying to face them.”

They stand there for a while, rocking gently together, and Steve concentrates on how much he loves Bucky with every fibre of his being, as though that will somehow be communicated to Bucky if he only thinks it hard enough.

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky sniffs eventually, and stops squeezing Steve as though he might disappear if he lets go.

“No problem,” Steve says gently, and then, “Now, how about a cup of tea?”

Bucky looks at him for a few long, incredulous seconds, and then laughs loudly, delightedly, at Steve’s teasing.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” he says, punching him playfully on the arm, but Steve knows it was the right thing to do, and turns to switch on the kettle.

 

\---

 

_"Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength."_

The first time they make love – and it is _making love_ , rather than _screwing_ or _fucking_ or anything even as playful as _making time_ , which was Bucky’s favourite term back in the day – it starts off quite inauspiciously.

They’d been kissing and getting increasingly hot and heavy when Bucky had broken off and said, “Steve, Steve, I want to…”

“Want to what, Buck?” Steve murmured against his neck, hoping against hope that he knew what Bucky was going to say, but not wanting to push him. The past three months of almost constant touching and increasingly explorative kissing had been nice, but he was still a man with needs, despite how Tony and Natasha liked to tease him about being old.

“Take me to bed,” Bucky says, reaching down to squeeze Steve’s ass, and Steve feels that he’s hard through his sweatpants. He bites back a moan. He needs to hear Bucky say it though; he doesn’t want to risk misinterpreting him and pushing for something Bucky’s not ready for.

“What do you want?”

“ _Oh my God_ , Steve, I want to have sex,” Bucky growls, throwing up his hands, frustration evident in his tone. Then he looks unsure. “If...if you want to?”

“Of course I want to,” Steve says, kissing him, “I just didn’t want to rush you.”

“Ok,” Bucky sighs, looking calmer. “So can we?”

“ _Yes_.” Steve has to stop himself from dragging Bucky into their bedroom, consciously concentrating on taking small steps. Once inside, they’re about to start kissing again, but Bucky pulls away, frowning.

“Steve…when we did this before, which one of us…um, which of us…”

“Which of us was on top?” Steve asks, wanting to make Bucky feel less awkward, and Bucky nods, grateful. “We switched about a bit. Mostly though you liked to be on top. And _I_ liked you being on top.”

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, “Ok. But can we do it the other way this time?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want. I thought it would be easier with you on top though, first? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But…” Bucky squirms, looking embarrassed, “I want you to do it. Show me I’m yours.”

Steve lifts a hand to Bucky’s cheek and gently draws his head up so that Bucky is looking him in the face. “Bucky, you’re always mine. And I’m always yours. Always have been. If that’s what you want, then we’ll do it, but we’ll go slowly. Like I said, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ok,” Bucky says. This conversation has killed the mood a little bit, but he seems determined to get things back on track. He rubs his face against Steve’s hand and lets Steve guide their lips back together. They kiss deeply, and Bucky strokes their tongues together, which sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. His hands grip the hem of Steve’s t-shirt, and they break the kiss so that they can get it off, Bucky’s shirt soon following. Bucky leads him to the bed and lies down, pulling Steve on top of him. Steve takes a moment to be glad that they’re both wearing sweatpants, as he’s not sure he could handle belts or buttons right now. He’s overwhelmed with the thought that he’s about to have sex for the first time in so long; he’s beyond turned-on, but also anxious to make it good for Bucky.

Steve lets Bucky lead, and helps him to wriggle out of his sweatpants. They keep kissing, fierce and hot, their hips rolling together, hands roaming everywhere they can reach. Bucky’s whimpering and pleading by the time Steve reaches into the nightstand and finds the tube of lube that he’d stashed there hopefully several weeks ago. “I’m going to open you up,” he whispers in Bucky’s ear, and Bucky shudders and spreads his legs. Steve works him open slowly, with first one finger, then two, and then three, and Bucky pants and moans and begs Steve to take him. Steve takes his time, slicking himself up, and then sinks into Bucky in one sure stroke.

They rock slowly together. Bucky’s body is so warm and welcoming, it’s like coming home. He needn’t have worried about forgetting how to do this; his body remembers Bucky’s, just as Bucky’s remembers his. Steve is overwhelmed with emotion. He’s proud of Bucky for being so brave, for making himself so vulnerable to Steve, for how much progress he’s made. He’s humbled that Bucky still wants him. He’s unspeakably turned-on. And he loves Bucky, loves him so much that it hurts, his heart so full that he thinks it might burst. The rightness of being with him like this sings in his soul.

He realises he’s close to coming, and reaches down to jack Bucky’s cock in time with his thrusts. Bucky gasps and tenses, and then he’s spilling between them, sighing, “Stevie…oh, Stevie,” into Steve’s shoulder. The sound of his voice is all it takes to push Steve over the edge, and he lets go, holding Bucky close to him, gently cradling him through the aftershocks. He’s never felt such bone-deep satisfaction before, as though he’s finally where he’s meant to be after such a long time of being so wretchedly alone. It wasn’t until he found out that Bucky was alive that Steve had even realised how lonely he was, and now, getting him back, he realises that he may be helping Bucky, but Bucky’s helping him too.

 

\---

 

_"True progress quietly and persistently moves along without notice."_

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Bucky?”

They are halfway to the apartment door when Steve turns around to look at Bucky, who sighs exasperatedly as he zips up his hoodie. “ _Yes_ , Steve, I’m sure.”

Steve holds up his hands. “Ok, ok. I just had to check.”

“For the fourth time in ten minutes!”

“Fine! I won’t ask again.”

Bucky grins at him fondly, and Steve’s heart melts a little. He can’t help feeling protective; this is a big step for Bucky, and he’s worried he’s pushing himself too much.

“We both know that’s not true. You’re like a guard dog.”

“I swear! If I ask again…I’ll give you ten bucks. And you can pick the next movie.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “ _Movies_. For the next week. Month.”

“That’s more like it. I’ve had enough Disney to last me a lifetime. Give me something with a bit more action. And no more damned talking snowmen.”

Steve smiles.

“You _love_ Disney. I saw you tearing up when Elsa and Anna’s parents died.”

Bucky snorts, but won’t dignify that with further response. Instead, he concentrates on fixing his hair in the hallway mirror. Steve would tease him for being vain, but also notices he’s dawdling a bit, looking a little bit nervous. Maybe he doesn’t want to go anymore?

“Bucky, are you _sure_ …”

“Hah! That’s ten bucks to me!” Bucky whoops, throwing open the apartment door with a flourish and stepping out into the corridor. “And I want to see all the movies with dinosaurs that have ever been made.”

“You can skip Jurassic Park III,” Steve says, pulling the door shut behind them and locking it.

“Nuh-uh. You promised. _All_ of them.”

Steve gives a resigned laugh, and says, “Ok then. All of them. Now, ready for the infamous Avengers Sunday Brunch?”

“I was born ready,” Bucky scoffs, and kisses Steve on the cheek as they head towards to the elevator.

 


End file.
